


Fallen

by Kamikaze_Embers



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: A brief mention of needles but tagged just to be safe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fallen Angels, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Needles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 17:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15668298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamikaze_Embers/pseuds/Kamikaze_Embers
Summary: "If you fall, I will catch you."





	Fallen

The battle is rough. These particular fallen angels are definitely some of the most ruthless and destructive of any. Even a mechanical food soul can only do so much, B-52 muses in annoyance, his flames lighting up the battlefield. He hovers just above it, bracing for his next attack.

Just behind him is Brownie, his partner. His hair is a deep brown with a faded blue tint to the ends. His hat sits off on the side a bit, held in place with a pale pink ribbon. His vest is a dark gray, his dress shirt an white. His eyes are a beautiful sky blue, currently narrowed as he focuses on the task at hand, as B-52 should be right now. 

He's more than that to him, bringing him a feeling he can't identify, not yet. It's new and strange, but also comforting. B-52 shakes his head to focus on the task at hand.

Turning around to glance back at him, the other giving him a quick thumbs up before charging his weapon again. The explosion from his gun causing Brownie to nearly fall backwards from the recoil. He simply clenches his teeth and begins rapidly shooting.

An attack he hadn't expected knocks him back drastically, hitting his head on a tree harshly. His sight blurs, then goes black. He barely hears B-52 call out to him.

“Brownie?” His eye widens, and Milk dashes off to check on him.

He's unaware of the time when he wakes up, but all around him are still-burning flames. The ground is burnt, almost nothing but ash. B-52 is nearby, panting quietly, soot dulling the shine of his metallic parts. Brownie is confused, but definitely more frightened.

“B-52?”

The other food soul doesn't respond with words, but rather a hug. A tear slips down his face.

“I thought I had lost you, that I had failed you.” He whispers shakily.

“You didn't fail anyone. I'm right here.”

Just before it dies, the last of the fallen angels shoots B-52 with a strange type of attack before falling back and disappearing in a dark cloud.

The constant near-losses are getting to him. He feels less and less like himself. Someone else's face glares back at him from the mirror. His hands, his entire body, doesn't feel like his own. B-52 begins to panic a bit, wondering what might be the cause of these strange feelings.

No one else has noticed the changes. But something is gnawing at him, and it's not one of Bamboo Rice’s pets, for once. Clenching his hands into fists, he bites his lip and storms outside.

Filled with blinding rage at something he doesn't know, B-52 quickly shoots flames all around him. The flames dance, burning away whatever they touch. The land is ashen when he leaves, no sign of anything living there at all. Just a trail of soot and ash that follows him.

Brownie can't help but worry as he scoops up some of the still-warm ash and dirt. Frowning, he lets it slip between his gloved fingers. Looking up towards the sky, he sighs heavily.

Napoleon’s words still haunt him. _If we were once fallen angels ourselves, then...what if one of us turns back into one? I know if it were someone close to me, I wouldn't be able to kill them. But they'd have no problem killing me._

_All these barren wastelands. I keep coming across them. Is this the work of the fallen? I've never seen their wrath become so...devastating. It looks like no one was ever here. And whoever had been is long gone. What- or who- could have caused so much destruction?_

He stops upon seeing a huge wall of flames. Grabbing his weapon, he braces himself for an attack. The familiar sound of it warming up, getting ready, is comforting in an odd sense.

_At least he'll go down fighting._

He couldn't have ever expected the fallen that launches themselves at him. 

The fallen angel is vaguely familiar- large mechanical wings, a cold glare from an ice-blue eye and-

Oh, no. Please, no.  
Brownie freezes. He can't move.  
His weapon falls to the ground.  
B-52…

As the mechanical being flies at him, it's all Brownie can do to watch as he dives down, flames flickering from his cane. A tear slips down his face.

The other stares coldly at him, no sign of recognition anywhere. He simply lifts his cane, flames beginning to gather.

The gears spin. He's barely alive as it is, his vision blurring, ears ringing.

“B-52, please.” He whispers desperately. Something flickers in that single blue eye. Brownie stands up shakily, using his gun to steady himself.

He meets the other's cold glare with his blank stare. 

“I won't shoot you.”

The other freezes in place briefly. He shakes his head. Brownie stands his ground, and true to his word, he doesn't pick up his weapon.

Their stares hold for what feels like forever. Brownie’s legs are shaking slightly. He can't help but wonder why the other hasn't shot him yet, hasn't attacked him.

The mechanic food soul drops his weapon.

“Damn it Brownie. I couldn't hurt you if I wanted to.” 

Brownie stares up at him in surprise. The fallen angel- no, B-52 -suddenly falls from the air, into Brownie’s outstretched arms.

“Come on. A little rest should help you. You scared me, you know? You just...disappeared and then all of this destruction...oh dear…” 

He walks back to the restaurant and sets B-52 onto the bed in his room. Brownie makes sure to clean the area first, then he picks up a bottle of medicine and carefully fills it into a syringe. Pressing the syringe into his arm, he waits a moment. He bandages the area, glancing at the other's peacefully sleeping expression.

“There. In a few hours, you should be back to your usual self. I look forward to seeing you again, Cocktail B-52.”

He leaves the room.


End file.
